


Dedicated

by mific



Series: Getting There [3]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: satedan_grabass, Dating, Fanfiction, First Time, Kissing, M/M, Poetry, Romance, Satedan Culture, Tango
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-24 12:49:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7508887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've waited long enough.</p><p>The final story in my 'Getting There' series. The two earlier John/Ronon stories are <i>Special</i> and <i>Complicated</i>, but you don't necessarily need to read them to understand this one. In the earlier stories, John casually gives Ronon something white, not realizing the symbolic meaning in Satedan culture, and ends up accidentally betrothed to Ronon (in Ronon's eyes, anyway). Worried about the fraternization regs, John doesn't act on the attraction they both feel, but Ronon's good at waiting. </p>
            </blockquote>





	Dedicated

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wings128](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wings128/gifts).



> Written for Wings128 for the 2016 Satetan_Grabass fic exchange. The prompt was: "In an attempt to get them out of their romantic rut, John suggests they each take the other on a typical date of their home world. Humour and sexy times ensue."  
> The prompt happened to fit really well with one of my series, which I've literally been meaning to finish for years. So thanks, Wings128, for the nudge, and I hope you enjoy this. It's ridiculously romantic, and I just had to add in the songs, so you get something of a soundtrack as well.  
> There are links to each piece of music as they crop up in the story. Technical tip - if you R-click or do a long press on the song links you can open in a new tab and play the vid or song as background music. John's song has streaming or playing options at the end of the fic.  
> The links are all in an endnote, as well. 
> 
> Huge thanks to Persiflager for a lightning fast beta!

 

***

Sometimes, John thought he was being ridiculous, keeping Ronon at arm's length with banter, ignoring the heat between them, the way he covertly studied Ronon, the way he sensed Ronon watching him.

He'd taken to dreaming of two miniature Ronons perched on each of his shoulders. The usual stereotypes, one tiny Ronon haloed and winged and the other in red, with a forked tail. The one robed in white—which now had a whole other meaning, of course—clutched a harp, but even in John's fevered dreams Angel-Ronon still had the dreads and he held the instrument like a weapon, as though he was planning to bash someone's head in with the solid wooden base. That Ronon said things like "rules are rules," and "what about your oath," and "don't fuck things up". Even as an angel, Ronon called a spade a fucking shovel.

The other Ronon was admittedly a lot more fun. For a start, he wasn't wearing nearly as much, just form-fitting pants that left nothing to the imagination they way they strained across his crotch, and which had a hole in back through which his tail emerged. He was muscled and gleaming with sweat, and he grinned saucily and whispered temptations into John's ear until John whimpered and thrashed, and woke up hard and aching, his hand on his dick, only needing a few strokes until he came, gasping. Devil-Ronon was a bastard who knew just how to push all John's buttons.

John woke after another of the damn dreams, jerked off almost angrily—which only made it hotter—and forced himself out of bed, unsettled, to calm down with a long, cool shower. His mind continued the debate that had plagued him these last few months since the whole thing with the white t-shirt and Ronon's vow, and Teyla's revelation that he and Ronon were now most probably betrothed, in Satedan terms.

They were _three million light-years_ away from the US military, for Christ's sake. The regs related, literally, to a galaxy far, far away, and they'd never applied to Satedan soldiers. The expedition was not only international, but pan-galactic and Elizabeth had made it clear that in her view DADT was outmoded nonsense and held no sway in Pegasus. Still, John's internal debate went on and on. Duty, habit, fear of reprisal, fear of sanction. In his heart, John suspected the regs were an excuse, and that behind all the surface rationalizations lurked his father's angry face, his icy voice: "Yes, find another way to hurt and defy me, John. You can't even be a successful _faggot_. You'll never commit to anything and you'll never amount to anything."

It all came to a head on P7X-542, where they'd gone following rumors of a power source that might, if you squinted and used a lot of imagination, be a ZPM. What they found, instead, was a rocky wilderness of wet forest slashed through with rain-swollen streams, a thunderstorm rumbling sullenly on the horizon.

"There's a faint signal from over there," Rodney said, frowning at his scanner and waving vaguely across the river at the far side of the valley. "But I don't know if it's worth–"

"No point coming all this way and not checking it out, I guess," John said. The river snaking through the rocky cleft of the valley looked pretty impassable unless there was a bridge somewhere, but there were no signs of civilization at all. "Does it look like a ZPM?"

"It looks like a weak, impossible-to-categorize signal," snapped Rodney, "as I've reiterated several times now. Could be a sensor glitch. Could be an ore deposit. Or, yes, it could be ancient tech."

"Might as well get on with it," grunted Ronon, and he bounded away down the rocky hillside.

"Hey!" John called after him, annoyed. "Who's the team leader here?"

"You are, Colonel," Teyla replied sweetly, moving to follow Ronon. "So perhaps you should lead."

"From the rear," Rodney smirked, as John waved him on sarcastically. Yeah, yeah. But someone had to cover Rodney's six, especially in terrain like this.

The river rushing through the valley's floor wasn't as wide as John had feared, but it was still damned dangerous, all white water with occasional torn-off branches breaking the surface. They would have turned back—they _should_ have turned back—but then Ronon, who'd gone scouting downstream, shouted. He'd found a fallen tree that bridged a narrow part of the stream—narrower than the rest, but still four or five meters of slick, spray-coated log.

"Look," John said, "this is too risky. Rodney'll never be able to get across it." Rodney glared at him and John shrugged, grimacing. Okay, so that was a cop-out. He didn't think _he'd_ be able to balance on the damn thing, let alone Rodney.

"I'll go first. Tie our ropes together and make a handhold," Ronon said. They each carried a short length of cord in their packs. Just a few meters each, but it was a handy length when knotted end to end and had proved useful on several occasions for cliff rescues, or that mission where frightened culling survivors had trapped Rodney in a pit, or the time they'd had to haul Teyla out of quicksand. Quickmud, whatever.

"Well, maybe," John agreed reluctantly, but the others were already opening their packs and pulling out the ropes, and of all of them, Ronon and Teyla were the most sure-footed. "But be careful. It'll be slippery as hell."

Ronon nodded but he wasn't anywhere near as nervous as he should have been, probably the veteran of several hair-raising log-bridge traverses on far-flung planets with the Wraith on his heels. For a second John was tempted to tell him he didn't have to prove anything, that he didn't have to take those risks anymore. That he wasn't a lone wolf these days. But it wasn't Ronon who was holding back from commitment, and it wasn't as though the mission didn't matter. They needed ZPMs desperately and Earth had sent them to Pegasus expressly to find technology to defend themselves. So what the hell was wrong with John? He shook off the second-guessing, afraid his feelings for Ronon might be clouding his judgement.

It might have been okay if the log-bridge had held. It was obviously as slippery as John had feared, but Ronon trod carefully, catlike and sure despite the way it rocked unsteadily. Then half a broken-off tree rounded the rocks upstream, and before any of them had time to shout a warning it slammed into the teetering log and swept it and Ronon down and under, away downstream in the boiling, hazard-filled water.

The gully's sides were sheer rock there, so they had to climb an outcrop to get downstream, and it took forever, although Rodney had the wit to hit his hand-held's timer button and swore it was only five minutes. The longest five minutes of John's life, before they scrambled down into a shingled cove where Ronon's weight had left him stranded, half in and half out of the water, unconscious and bleeding from numerous scratches and a deep laceration to his biceps, but alive.

John castigated himself for not pulling the plug on the goddamn cross-country before anyone got hurt. Before Ronon got hurt. Ronon was out cold, his skin clammy with hypothermia from the icy water, a raised, tender lump above his ear attesting to a head injury.

John held him close and Teyla wrapped survival blankets around him, and Rodney clambered all the way back to the Gate and called for an evac jumper, yelling at Lorne through the radio, "Man down! Move your military asses!"

All John could think was: _He nearly died. I nearly lost him. He might still die,_ over and over, a litany of guilt.

Ronon came to, groggy and sick with concussion, twenty minutes later, just as the jumper with AR-3 arrived to collect them. He was pretty out of it for 24 hours, then feverish with a chest infection, and it was a few days before he was somewhat more lucid and able to do more than ask for water or for John to help him to the toilet.

"Sorry," Ronon said, when John arrived that morning with a fresh muffin from the mess hall. Ronon liked the ones with bega nuts in them. "Thought I could swim, if I fell."

John blinked at this. "Okay, one: no one could've swum in that. Two: it wasn't your fault. It was mine—I should never have let you try." He blamed himself for the whole stupid clusterfuck. Just because Ronon thought he was Superman didn't mean he actually _was_ invulnerable. 

"Sheppard? You okay?" Ronon pulled John down into the chair beside the bed where he'd spent most of the last few days with his laptop propped up, tapping away at reports while Ronon slept, and coughed, and sometimes, secretly, held his hand under the bedclothes.

John gave him the muffin, glad to see Ronon sniff it appreciatively and bite in, his appetite returning. He looked a lot better, a few scratches and the bandaged gash on his arm the only signs of his encounter with the river. That and the lingering cough, but even the pneumonia was vastly better, and Ronon was tough; he was bouncing back fast and already getting restless.

John cleared his throat. "So. I've been thinking." Ronon wolfed down the last of the muffin and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah," John said, playing for time while he figured out how to say what he needed. "I had a fair amount of time this past week. To think."

Ronon had both eyebrows raised quizzically now, and was giving John that spit-it-out-Sheppard look. John made a face. God, he was crap at this stuff—maybe he should go. He shifted restlessly and Ronon's hand shot out and wrapped around his wrist. "You were thinking," Ronon said, staring at him.

John did a semi-eyeroll, mostly to avoid meeting Ronon's eyes. "I didn't like it," he said, sounding petulant, even to himself.

Ronon squinted at him, puzzled. "Having time to think?"

John widened his eyes in a _well,_ _duh_. "Didn't like all that time when you were _sick_." He looked away. "We almost lost you, buddy."

"We, huh," Ronon said, his face impassive.

"Yes, _we,"_ John retorted, because, jeez, did the big guy think no one in Atlantis cared about him? Surely he didn't still feel like an outsider? "Teyla, Rodney, Elizabeth, you know. People were worried."

"Uh huh," Ronon said, letting go of John's wrist. "People."

John gritted his teeth. " _Me,_ okay? _I_ was worried. You worried the hell out of me." Ronon's hand crept back and slid into John's, lacing their fingers together. He pushed their joined hands in under the sheet and grinned at John. John took a deep breath. "So, I was thinking I've been dumb, wasting time. Because . . ." He waved his free hand.

"Shit happens?" Ronon suggested. John frowned at him, wondering how Ronon picked up slang so fast when Teyla ignored it. Maybe it was some vagary of the Gate translation program.

"Yeah," John agreed. "Shit happens. Life's too short. You gotta make hay while the sun shines."

"Thought your people were animal herders, not farmers," Ronon said mildly.

John glared at him. "Very funny."

Ronon grinned and squeezed his hand. "Satedans have the same sayings," he said. "Kill your enemy while he's cornered. Eat before you're eaten."

"Riiight." John nodded judiciously. "Gritty and to the point, but that's Pegasus for you." He gave Ronon a rueful smile. "So what I'm working up to here is . . . we should date."

Ronon lifted an eyebrow again. "Date, huh?" John nodded, wondering why his heart was pounding. His mouth was a little dry, as well. Ronon looked thoughtful. "Like in that movie? _Fifty First Dates_?"

"Well, not _quite_ the same. I'm hoping we'll remember it afterward."

"This is an Earth ritual, right?" Ronon cocked his head and gazed at John.

"People don't date on Sateda?"

"Kind of. Not like in your movies."

"Well . . ." John bit his lip and frowned. "Hey, why don't we each arrange a date, to break the ice, you know? One date each, in the traditions of our people." Christ, he sounded like Teyla negotiating a trade deal.

Ronon squeezed his hand again. "Yeah, okay. But you have to set up a Satedan date for me, and I have to set up an Earth date for you."

"What?" John gaped at him. "But . . ."

"Help us get to know each other. Find out how this dating stuff works."

"But I don't know anything about Satedan dates," John protested. "At least you've got a bunch of crappy chick flicks as a guide."

Ronon nodded seriously. "We're gonna need wingmen." John gaped at him some more. "That's what you call it, right? A wingman? A guide? Someone to help us?"

"Um . . . yeah," John said. "I guess."

"You can have Teyla," Ronon said generously. "I'll have McKay."

"Oh great." John pulled a face. "I'm gonna have a date organized by Rodney McKay."

"Suck it up," Ronon said, grinning. "Serves you right for making me wait."

***

McKay was actually pretty useful as a wingman, Ronon thought, because he knew music, and what Ronon had in mind needed music.

"Dancing," Ronon said. "I want to take him dancing. People do that on dates, right? Earth people?"

"Well, yes," McKay said stickily around the chocolate bar Ronon had used to bribe him into helping set up the date. "But, I mean, you can't exactly take him clubbing. Even the midwinter and midsummer festivals in Pegasus aren't at all like going clubbing on Earth, and I guess we're talking gay clubs anyway, which is a whole other–"

"Not off-world," Ronon said. He didn't want to be on edge the whole time, guarding against treachery or a culling. "Too complicated. Something here—in the city. Just me and Sheppard."

McKay frowned. "We don't even have a mirror-ball or a disco machine here, let alone anything remotely like a club—and I most certainly don't count that bootleg drinking den of Zelenka's." He held up a finger. "I can help you arrange the music, though—that's easy enough with an iPod and speakers. Come to think of it, I can probably sync some flashing lights as well, it'd only take–"

"No lights. Just candles."

McKay quirked a grin. "Romantic, huh? Well, I guess that's appropriate. So you want slow-dancing music?"

Ronon considered that. It sounded like something that'd take a lot of training, learning the dance moves then deliberately slowing them down. Control and grace, like a kata. Tempting, but probably too demanding for a first date. "No, the tango."

"You what?" McKay stopped eating his chocolate bar to stare at Ronon. "Where in hell did you hear about the tango? Oh, wait, don't tell me the Marines showed you _Last Tango in Paris_ , because that's not–"

"Movie Night. That one about dancing, with the Lopez woman."

" _Shall We Dance_? With Richard Gere?" Ronon shrugged agreement and McKay frowned. "But why the tango?"

"I like it—it's kind of like sparring or catch-the-flag. Got some interesting footwork." Also, at that movie, Sheppard had said _Ah, the tango—the dance of love_. Ronon hadn't forgotten.

McKay bit his lip. "Look, Ronon, the tango's something people have to practice. It's kind of complicated." Ronon gave him a look. "Yes, yes, I know you're a prodigy at all things physical, but what about Sheppard?"

"He learned it in second school. Told me he had to do it for his Prom Festival."

"Really? I wondered if Sheppard came from money. He never talks about his family, but sometimes he lets things slip accidentally."

Ronon looked away, feeling awkward. "I've been training. Gonzalez gave me a few lessons and loaned me his videos."

McKay eyed him narrowly. "You've got this all figured out, huh? Dancing. _Tango_ dancing, no less. Jesus." He swallowed the last bit of chocolate and licked his fingers clean. "You'll need dinner as well, and some wine from the Athosians. It's too cold outside yet to set it all up on the pier . . ." He snapped his fingers. "Ha! I know just the place, though—we cleared it last week. That viewing room half-way up the South-East tower, with all the windows. It'd make a perfect dance floor."

Ronon cocked an eyebrow at him. "We on, then?"

"Oh yes," McKay said, rubbing his hands together. "It's a plan."

***

"Hey, wow," John said, as Ronon led him into the room. The cultural date exchange had been postponed for three weeks while Ronon made some sort of mysterious preparations, and he'd been curious about what lay in store. They'd had to climb up six levels of a spiral staircase as not all the transporters in this tower had been repaired, so he stopped and caught his breath for a moment, staring out of the floor-to-ceiling windows that ringed the room. The lights of the city glowed beneath them, a spangled golden counterpoint to the blue-white stars above. "That's some view."

Ronon had paused beside him, a little hesitant.  He was wearing a soft suede vest and black leather pants that John hadn't seen before—although he'd gotten very familiar with the way they hugged Ronon's ass while Ronon led him up the six flights of stairs. John himself had opted for tight blue jeans and his favorite, well-worn denim shirt. He glanced around, taking in the room which was empty and lit by a ring of candles set in niches in the ornamental panels separating the huge floor-length windows. "Romantic, huh?" John said, shooting Ronon a grin.

"Hope so," Ronon said. "You hungry?"

"I could eat," John said, noticing a small table off to one side. It was set for two people, with a cloth that looked suspiciously like one of Teyla's scarves. John moved toward the table. "So what'd you score from the mess hall?" He was amused to see a plant on the table in a small pot. There were no roses in Pegasus, but the single flower rising from the nest of leaves was pretty enough, a deep red whorl of petals around a cluster of gold stamens. "Aw, you sweet-talked the botanists for me, Ronon. I'm touched."

"McKay said we had to have a plant, but he wouldn't touch it. Said it might give him a fever."

John bent forward, sniffing the flower; it smelled like Athosian tea. "Interesting."

Ronon took the covers off the two plates and they sat down. " 'Not-Beef Wellington with gravy and roasted Earth-vegetables'," Ronon recited, obviously quoting the cook who'd made their dinner. "Then there's chocolate mouse."

"Looks good. Ah, you mean an actual chocolate mouse? Or chocolate mousse?"

Ronon frowned at him. "You dip mice in chocolate and eat them? That'd be gross. No, it's that chocolate stuff like jello, except creamy. In a glass."

John picked up his fork. "Mousse, right. No, we don't dip _real_ mice in chocolate, but they make, like, toy mice out of chocolate. They put candy whiskers and tails on 'em and all. I used to like them when I was a kid."

"Next time," Ronon promised, tucking into his not-beef.

The food was good, so John concentrated on it for a while. Ronon reached down and took a ceramic bottle of ruus wine from a basket at his feet. He poured it into their glasses and was about to drink when John stopped him. "Special occasion, Ronon. We gotta have some toasts."

"Didn't bring any bread."

"Naw, not toast, toasts. Something you say before drinking—kind of like making a wish. I'll go first; you'll see what I mean." John raised his glass and gestured for Ronon to do the same, then clinked them together. "Here's to a long life and a happy one, a quick death and an easy one, a good man and an honest one, a cold beer . . . and another one!" He drank, watching Ronon do the same. "It's supposed to come from a place called Ireland. I guess it works better if you're drinking beer, but whatever. " He gestured at Ronon. "Your turn."

Ronon's brow wrinkled in thought. "We said this in the squads, before drinking." John touched his glass to Ronon's again then gestured for Ronon to continue. Ronon gave him a knowing look. "Never above you. Never below you. Always beside you." John smirked, lifted his glass and they drank.

Ronon resumed eating, while John played with his glass, looking through the deep red-brown of the wine at the nearest candle. "So what'd you have to do to get the mess hall make all this for us?"

"Sharpened all their knives," Ronon said, through a mouthful of roast onions and carrots.

John grinned. "Figures. Well, thanks, It's really good."

They finished the meal and then Ronon straightened, frowning. "I forgot the music," he said. "There's supposed to be music."

"No worries," John said. "We can have some now."

"No, it was for eating," Ronon said, still frowning. "McKay said it was dinner music. There's different music for now."

"A playlist, right." John smiled, trying to show Ronon it was okay. "So, um, this is after-dinner music?" He wondered what they were supposed to do now. The room was empty, no couches, no TV or laptop, and neither of them were great conversationalists. He'd thought maybe they could make out a little—actually, he'd pretty much been counting on it, but without any couches . . . "What d'you want to do now?"

Ronon stood and cleared the dinner things away into his basket, then he took out an iPod on a speaker stand and plugged it into one of the portable power-packs the engineers had built for parts of the city that weren't hooked into the main power grid yet. Ronon tapped the screen and some vaguely Latin sounds drifted out of the speakers. John frowned, trying to place the song.

Ronon turned and held out a hand. "Dance," he said. "Now we're gonna dance."

John let himself be pulled up from the chair and into the center of the room. That explained the bare space, the lack of furniture. He cocked his head at the music welling from the speakers. "Hey, is that a–"

"[Tango](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HNjVaaZXcBY)," Ronon said. "Yeah." He grinned wolfishly. "You up for it?"

"Jesus," John said helplessly, as Ronon arranged him, their outstretched hands clasped together, Ronon's strong fingers splayed across the small of John's back. He rested his other hand on Ronon's shoulder. "You learned the goddamn _tango_ for me?" Then the music swelled and they were off, Ronon guiding John through the moves, graceful and sure, and John finally recognized the music, from that J-Lo movie with Richard Gere.

It had been years since he'd done this, but it came back fast, and Ronon was good, and so fucking hot, spinning and dipping John, staring at him intensely as they sidestepped and twirled. Ronon smoldered and prowled, bare-armed in his vest, pulling them tight together and bending John back over his arm, moving against him until John was hard and breathless, alive to every touch.

Finally, the tango medley came to an end, leaving them clasped in each others' arms, Ronon's leg pressed between John's. John could feel Ronon's cock hot against his hip, his own aching hard-on pressing into Ronon's thigh. He lifted his face and Ronon lowered his great dreadlocked head, and they kissed. After the incendiary dancing, it was hard to keep the kiss gentle, but Ronon cradled his face and explored his lips almost chastely. He turned John's head, kissing his jaw, then his ear, then behind John's ear, a sweet spot that made John groan and damn near liquified his spine.

John sought blindly for Ronon's mouth, opening to him, tasting him, all tongues and heat and longing. He realized he was rutting against Ronon's thigh, making needy noises way back in his throat, and, somehow, he pulled back from the edge and just held on, panting, his face pushed into Ronon's neck. God, Ronon smelled good.

"Need to take it . . . down a notch, buddy," he gasped. "Got my principles. Never put out 'til the third date."

He felt Ronon's laugh rumble in his chest more than he heard it, blood still pounding in his ears. Ronon's voice was as breathless as John's. "Which one's this?"

John pulled away slightly and looked up, grinning. "Number two. I think we'll count that time you fed me the honey pastries by hand as number one."

"Okay," Ronon agreed. "Wanna dance some more?"

"Yeah, maybe, let me just see . . ." John said, easing back. He brushed his lips across Ronon's then went to check the iPod. Aha, Rodney had a playlist called "wind-down". That sounded promising. He opened it and set it playing. [_Sexy Cinderella_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5wu2KDjxIog) by Lynden David Hall filled the room.

John crossed back to Ronon, letting his hips sway way more than was proper for a military commander, and put his arms around Ronon's neck. "Slow dancing," he explained. "Traditional way to end the evening."

Ronon frowned. "McKay mentioned that, but I haven't trained for it."

"No training needed, buddy," John assured him. "C'mon, put your arms around me. It's romantic. Soft music to sway to, and maybe neck a little."

Ronon raised his eyebrows, but he slid his arms around John and moved with him, shifting from side to side. John lifted his head and they kissed softly, then John tucked his head under Ronon's chin and sighed.

"Like this?" Ronon asked, his cheek pressed to John's hair, one hand stroking up and down John's back as they swayed.

"Oh yeah. Just like this," John said.

***

John was pretty sure Teyla was messing with him. She'd made him sit cross-legged on a cushion in her quarters and drink tea, while she passed on her research into Satedan dating. "Not so much _dating_ , John, not as this is practiced on Earth—or in Earth movies, at least. But they had courtship activities."

One popular outing was to attend bantan matches together."Kind of like catching a college football game, right?" John asked, feeling on surer ground. Everyone liked sports.

"Not precisely, no." She went into some detail—apparently Ronon had been a fan. Bantan was a winter sport that sounded like a cross between ice hockey and fire-juggling, with the high-speed transfer of burning batons. "I gather it was very dramatic to watch," Teyla said, "although the injury-rate was high."

"No kidding," John said, eyes wide. The Marines'd probably give it a shot for him, but he couldn't in all conscience encourage anything that insane. Also they didn't have an ice-rink. "Okay, so that's a no. What else do they do?"

"There was a form of operatic combat, very ritualized, with masks and elaborate costumes, where they played out the tales of past battles and heroes, using real weapons."

"Don't tell me," John sighed. "Also a high injury-rate?" Teyla inclined her head in rueful agreement. John frowned. "We're not gonna be able to do anything like that here, anyway." Miko and the anthropologists could maybe put on some kabuki, but it wouldn't mean anything to Ronon, and the real Satedan performers had all been culled or had fled. "Plus, I don't wanna do something that'll make him sad about what's been lost, y'know?" Teyla nodded. John sighed and took another sip. "There must be something else they used to do when they were . . . courting."

Teyla nodded. "One thing Ronon mentioned, I think we could perhaps try. If you enlist extra helpers."

"Helpers? To do what?" John asked warily. Those Satedans were into some wacky leisure activities. He hoped it wasn't going to mean bobbing for Molotov cocktails or paintball with live ammo. Mud wrestling, he could maybe get behind.

"Poetry," Teyla said, smiling beatifically. "Ronon said there were gatherings on Sateda—in the cities, at least."

"Poetry readings?"

"Indeed. Established poets would perform their works, but amateurs were also welcome. Ronon said he read his own works once or twice, when he was sixteen, before his military service."

"Really?" John thought of a teenage Ronon declaiming poetry. Imagined him beardless and soft-faced; he'd have been gorgeous. John flushed, feeling like a pervert, and shifted awkwardly.

He poured them both more tea. "Look, I know there'll be people here in the city who can write their own poetry—maybe the linguists, or the anthropologists, or something. But I don't know them, not really. Having a few good friends over is one thing, but I don't want to invite half the city."

"By all means let us start with a small gathering," Teyla said, "and I do not believe it is necessary that people write their own poems. Everything we bring will be new to Ronon, after all. Perhaps your friends could be asked to bring a favorite poem to read."

"Yeah, okay," he said. "Something romantic." Which was how John ended up hosting the inaugural meeting of the Atlantis Poetry Club.

***

John figured it would take less time to set up his poetry counter-date as it didn't involve crazy stunts like mastering the tango from scratch, but in the end it took almost as long. First he had to figure out what he was going to do and rewrite the lyrics, which took the better part of a week in between his duties.

Then he had to dust off his neglected guitar and re-learn the chords, which meant tender finger-tips and a whole lot of cursing, while Johnny Cash glared down from his poster, disapprovingly.

John's date was a group effort, so he had to invite people and give them time to make their choices. It was kind of like a mission, with the briefing and the strategizing, but he figured it'd be worth it. Ronon had grinned when he told him to bring a poem. "Poetry throw-down, huh?" he'd said, ruffling John's hair. Ronon had been watching altogether too much reality-TV, John decided. "Haven't been to one in years, not since I started training to be a Specialist."

"Well, not so much a challenge, big guy. Not gonna be a competition, just a nice evening."

"With poetry."

"Yeah, or maybe songs. Which are poetry, right? Just with a tune."

"So, no dueling to the death?" Ronon asked, looking disappointed.

"Jesus, _no_." Then John saw the twinkle in Ronon's eye. "Oh, you bastard, you're totally pulling my leg." Which led to giggling and tussling and breathless kissing and more cold showers. John seemed to be needing a lot of those, lately.

***

The room looked pretty damn good, John thought. He'd borrowed a ton of stuff from Teyla and the Athosians and his room was full of hangings and rugs and candles, throw pillows strewn all about. There were snacks, and beers and sodas, and ruus wine—the hard stuff being only for those who'd finished their poem. John had made a rule.

He relaxed back against the wall where he and Ronon were leaning and took a swig of beer. Rodney had commandeered his bed and was propped up on the pillows, talking at Radek a mile a minute, his hands waving excitedly. Radek sat cross-legged on a cushion, eating roast bega-nuts and rolling his eyes, with Carson sprawled beside him on one elbow. To John's right, Teyla and Elizabeth sipped sodas and chatted with Halling.

John got to his feet and clapped his hands. "Okay, everyone, welcome and thanks for coming to Poetry Night."

There were scattered cheers, and Rodney said "Poetry _Date_ Night", which led to a wolf whistle from Carson and general hilarity.

"Yeah, yeah, everyone's a comedian, but this is Poetry Night not the Comedy Club, so can it, McKay. Also, no heckling people when they're saying their poems."

"Can I heckle them after?" Rodney called, flushed and impish. John probably should've made it a rule that Rodney had no booze at all before his turn.

"Just for that, you get to go first," he said, and ignored the inevitable bitching.

Eventually Rodney was propped up against John's bedside table, his hand-held raised. "Okay, okay," he said. "I downloaded this from the linguistics server which apparently contains terabytes of crap like poetry—excellent news, as when I reformat it there'll be oodles more storage space for simulation data." There were boos and Elizabeth muttered something about over her dead body.

Rodney raised a commanding hand. "Romantic we were told, and romantic I have. Also physics, so's to set the tone for the evening, although I'm sure it'll all be downhill from here."

"Get on wi' it laddie," Carson called, waving his bottle.

"Behead that dormouse!" Rodney replied. Ronon cocked an eyebrow and John grinned and gestured a 'take no notice' at him. "So this is _The Physics of Love_ by David Leeds," Rodney said, and began.

 _"I wonder how I see you at all_  
_when I walk into a room._  
_The emptiness inside you_  
_between molecules of skin,_  
_is the space between stars._

 _The smallest part of you is quarks,_  
_top or bottom, up or down,_  
_charmed or strange, locked_  
_in a kind of orbit, but never staying_  
_in one place._  
_No wonder you are out of focus._

 _Inside you, magnetic fields shift and spin,_  
_a crazy dance of violent tides,_  
_free from the cycles_  
_of any moon._  
_It confuses the hell_  
_out of the stuff_  
_that holds me together._

 _There is so little of us,_  
_in all this nothing._  
_What gives love_  
_enough weight_  
_to be named?"_

He managed it pretty well, with only a little slurring. "Thanks, buddy," John said, touched. "That was cool."

"Any poem with quarks in it is a masterpiece," Rodney said, beaming as he plonked himself back down on his pillows and snapped his fingers for the ruus wine flask.

"What's a quark?" Ronon asked.

"I could tell you," Rodney said, "but then I'd have to kill you."

"Like to see you try," Ronon said, grinning with teeth.

"Hey, hey, not an _actual_ throw-down," John said hastily. "Who's next. Carson?" He figured he'd get the tipsiest people done first.

Carson hauled himself to his feet, hardly swaying at all. "Mine is the love poem to end all love poems. By the immortal bard, o' course."

"Robbie Burns?" Elizabeth asked, smiling up at him.

"Who else, lass." Carson raised a finger at John. "Colonel, I require a chord in G major. Can ye manage that for me now?" His accent was thicker than usual, but whether that was the beer, or his proximity to Burns, John wasn't sure. He reached for the guitar lying beside him and obliged.

Carson raised his head, and sang acapella, surprising them all with a fine tenor.

 _"[My love is like a red, red rose,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VpGTqiIlES8) _  
_That's newly sprung in June,_  
_My love is like a melody,_  
_That's sweetly play'd in tune._

 _As fair thou art, my bonnie love,_  
_So deep in love am I,_  
_And I will love thee still, my dear,_  
_Till a' the seas gang dry._

 _Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,_  
_And the rocks melt wi' the sun,_  
_I will love thee still, my dear,_  
_While the sands o' life shall run._

 _And fare thee weell, my only love,_  
_O fare thee weell a while,_  
_And I will come again, my love,_  
_Tho' it were ten thousand mile._

 _Tho' it were ten thousand mile, my love,_  
_Tho' it were ten thousand mile._  
_I will come again, my love,_  
_Tho' it were ten thousand mile._ "

There was an appreciative pause then everyone clapped, except Ronon, who'd never caught that particular Earth habit. He pounded the flat of his hand on the floor, and John was glad he'd put rugs down. Carson bowed, almost toppling, and was steadied by Radek who'd jumped up to take his turn. "Come, my friend, you have earned yourself some wine after that tour de force." Radek said, easing Carson down until Halling could help him sit and pour him a measure.

Radek waited until the chatter had died down, then lifted his arms to include them all. "In tonight's venture I am hampered, not by being a scientist, but by being Czech." John shot Rodney a warning look, and Rodney rolled his eyes and swallowed whatever rude remark he'd had on the tip of his tongue. Radek raised a hand. "We are intensely romantic people, but if you know anything of the history of my land, you will know that we have endured a great deal."

Ronon leaned in, whispering in John's ear. "They were culled? Thought you didn't have the Wraith?"

"Not culled. Disappeared," John whispered back. Ronon looked impressed.

"So although there is very great deal of Czech poetry," Radek continued, "it is grim, in the main, and unsuitable for a gathering of this kind." He smiled at John and Ronon. "I have, however, thought of a poem which is not so bleak, and which has the great virtue of brevity, so I can recall it. It is called _In the Café_ , by Jiří Žáček. This is a translation, of course, but I think, a good one.

 _While the ice is melting in our glasses,_  
_while we, calm, impassive faced, are phrasing_  
_our own game of ping-pong, making pointless passes,_  
_on the rack, our coats are mating, brazen."_

He bowed, more deeply and steadily than Carson had managed, and sat, to laughter and praise, accepting the flask from Halling with alacrity. Halling stood, seeming even taller with everyone sitting.

"Friends, I also have a short poem, and I thought to take my turn now, as there is only so much ruus wine, and my legs, as you see, are very long." He pulled a comical face. "They take time to fill up." Teyla snorted soda out her nose and John grinned to see her happy. This was turning out to be fun.

"This is a traditional Athosian joining poem," Halling said, turning to address John and Ronon. "It has no name that I know." He closed his eyes for a moment, then began.

 _"I am the loom's long-strings,_  
_You are the cross-threads._  
_You color me,_  
_You pattern me,_  
_You bring meaning,_  
_You complete my weave."_

Teyla's eyes glistened, and Ronon was nodding appreciatively. He stood, hauling John up by one arm, then released John and clasped Halling's shoulders, bending forward in the familiar greeting. When they were done, John followed suit, as ever a little awkward. Halling smiled fondly at them both, then stepped back to his place and they all sat. Joining, huh? John bit his lip. Were the Pegasus natives springing another ceremony on him?

Before he could get too freaked out, Elizabeth rose to her feet. "My turn," she said. "This is a sonnet I've always liked— _Love Is Not All,_ by Edna St. Vincent Millay.

 _Love is not all: It is not meat nor drink_  
_Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain,_  
_Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink_  
_and rise and sink and rise and sink again._

 _Love cannot fill the thickened lung with breath_  
_Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;_  
_Yet many a man is making friends with death_  
_even as I speak, for lack of love alone._

 _It well may be that in a difficult hour,_  
_pinned down by need and moaning for release_  
_or nagged by want past resolution's power,_  
_I might be driven to sell your love for peace,_

 _Or trade the memory of this night for food._  
_It may well be. I do not think I would."_

"Wow," Rodney said, looking a little stunned. "That's pretty hot, for a female poet."

"Yes, it is, Rodney," Elizabeth said, grinning at him. "Especially as she was born in the 19th century."

"You don't have many women poets on Earth?" Ronon asked.

"Oh, there are plenty," Elizabeth told him, getting herself some wine and settling neatly back into the cushions again. "But not many wrote as frankly as she did, and she lived in a more conservative age."

"There was Sappho, of course," Radek offered.

"The isles o' Greece! the isles o' Greece, where burning Sappho loved 'n sung," Carson declaimed blurrily. He raised his glass of wine and drank. Elizabeth moved over beside him and swapped out his wineglass for a water bottle, chatting with him softly.

"I will take my turn, I think," Teyla said, rising gracefully. "My poem is also Athosian. It is called _Hunter_.

 _Hunter, I see you._  
_I watch you, I follow you._  
_Hiding in the forest_  
_While you track me._

 _Are you ready, Hunter?_  
_To catch me, to claim me?_  
_I am hiding and making ready_  
_In the forest._

 _What will you do_  
_When you find me in the forest?_  
_When you catch me and claim me?"_  
  
Her face became mischievous as she spoke the last line.  
_"I know what I will do."_

Rodney snorted and Halling smiled knowingly. "Nicely ambiguous," Radek said, nodding.

"Another 'joining poem'?" John asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Just so," Teyla said with a teasing smile, seating herself.

"Why do I feel like you're ganging up on me?" John complained.

Ronon elbowed him. "Shut up, Sheppard. My turn now." He rose to his feet.

"Shutting up," John agreed. Going last was a bitch; he was never going to get any ruus wine. 

Ronon turned to face John."This is called _New Life_ ," he said, his eyes fixed on John. John sat up straighter, heart suddenly pounding.

 _"Seven years of running,_  
_Through Ring after world-Ring,_  
_An outcast, a Wraithbringer._  
_Deathbringer._

 _No thought or rest, only_  
_Eat, sleep, run, kill._  
_Hoping for a sky-Ring,_  
_An ending._

 _Nothing left of home,_  
_Destruction behind me,_  
_No future, only Wraith._  
_Only killing._

 _Caught where the sun burns_  
_Held fast, held and healed._  
_Brought into safety._  
_Brought home._

 _Now, a new taskmaster,_  
_New life, friends, purpose._  
_To fight with, to laugh with._  
_To love."_

Ronon dropped his gaze from John's. "That's all there is," he said, scuffling one foot.

John scrambled to his feet and pulled him into a hug. "Buddy," he said, his voice choked.

"You liked it?" Ronon pulled back and scanned John's face.

"Yeah, I liked it," John said. "Of course I goddamn liked it." He kissed Ronon softly on the mouth.

"That was very G-rated," Rodney complained. "Surely you can do better?"

"Be quiet, Rodney," Radek said, hitting him in the arm. He turned to Ronon. "I liked it also," he said. "The first three verses were very Czech."

Rodney flopped back on the bed. "Gloo-my," he sing-songed.

"Drž hubu, debil," Radek retorted.

"Yes, yes, because calling me a prick is so very mature, I don't–"

"Guys, guys," John pleaded, raising his hands placatingly. "Save it for the labs, okay?" He grabbed Rodney's arm. "And I need the bed now, Rodney. I gotta play the guitar for my one and it's easier for me if I'm sitting."

Ronon helped evict Rodney, who settled down against the wall where they'd been leaning, and passed across John's guitar. John pulled Ronon down to sit beside him on the bed.

"Right," he said. "So this is the singalong part of the evening." Rodney groaned and was loudly shushed. John grabbed the song-sheets he'd copied with the chorus and passed them around to everyone except the Athosians and Ronon.

"This is the chorus," he said. "Halling–"

Halling nodded. "Teyla has taught it to me. I am ready."

"Me, too," Ronon said, grinning. "Easy to learn compared to _The Epic of Datrum Chada's Glorious Victory in the Western Wastes._ "

"It looks rather familiar," Elizabeth said, her eyes skimming the page.

"Wait, wait," Rodney said. "This is–"

"Yeah," John said. "I paraphrased the theme song from the 'Sharpe' series. It's an old English song from the Napoleonic wars. So, Ronon, I can't write poetry for peanuts, but I'm hoping you'll still like it."

"War ballads are always good," Ronon said, his eyes warm.

John settled himself with the guitar and strummed the first chord, drawing it out dramatically. He touched his iPod to get the soundtrack ready. "We've got a karaoke track as well, since my guitar picking's a little rough these days." His voice wasn't that great either, but he was hoping it'd suit the subject matter. Taking a deep breath, he hit play.

 _"A one-way journey through the Ring_  
_For those who volunteer to bring,_  
_The fight to Wraith or any foe_  
_Over the worlds and far we go."_

He waved a hand to encourage them with the chorus. Ronon joined in immediately, and then Rodney, who had a surprisingly good voice and had nailed the pitch and the lilting rhythm.

 _"Through the Ring and through the Gate_  
_To meet our destiny, our fate,_  
_Need commands and we obey_  
_Over the worlds and far away."_

By the last line of the chorus they were all singing. He waved them down again and sang the second verse alone, grinning along with Elizabeth and Rodney when he got to the ZPM part.

 _"Then fall in team and step on through_  
_To find a ZPM or two,_  
_Along the road to come what may_  
_Over the worlds and far away."_

They launched eagerly into the next chorus, less ragged now, Carson's voice rising pure and clear.

 _"Through the Ring and through the Gate_  
_To meet our destiny, our fate,_  
_Need commands and we obey_  
_Over the worlds and far away."_

And so it went, John singing the verses and everyone helping with the choruses, just as he'd hoped. What he hadn't foreseen was how much it'd get to him. To them all, from the looks on their faces.

 _"Through culling, ambush, bomb and shell_  
_Through siege and capture, fire and hell,_  
_We shall stand and we shall stay_  
_Over the worlds and far away._

 _Through the Ring and through the Gate_  
_To meet our destiny, our fate,_  
_Need commands and we obey_  
_Over the worlds and far away."_

It was a damn good song for Pegasus, he thought. A good song for anyone fighting a cunning and dangerous enemy, whether Napoleon or the Wraith. He grinned at Ronon, who was really getting into it.

 _"When Evil stalks upon the land_  
_We will not hold nor stay our hand_  
_But fight to win a better day,_  
_Over the worlds and far away._

 _Through the Ring and through the Gate_  
_To meet our destiny, our fate,_  
_Need commands and we obey_  
_Over the worlds and far away."_

John quietened his playing, making his voice softer. He looked Ronon in the eye as he sang the next verse.

 _"Though I may travel far from here_  
_With you beside me there's no fear,_  
_For you are with me night and day_  
_Over the worlds and far away."_

Ronon squeezed his knee, and they were away again, into the chorus.

 _"Through the Ring and through the Gate_  
_To meet our destiny, our fate,_  
_Need commands and we obey_  
_Over the worlds and far away."_

The last verse was darker, but it was true, and John knew it'd resonate with Ronon. He lifted his voice.

 _"If I should fall and rise no more,_  
_As many comrades did before,_  
_We will meet again someday_  
_Over the worlds and far away."_

Carson's face was wet as they launched into the final chorus, and Radek and Elizabeth's eyes were bright.

 _"Through the Ring and through the Gate_  
_To meet our destiny, our fate,_  
_Need commands and we obey_  
_Over the worlds and far away."_

Ronon kept his gaze on John as the last notes died away. John took a deep breath. His chest hurt a little; probably he was out of practice with singing for that long.

"Oh, John," Elizabeth said. "That was marvelous."

"Aye, laddie, it was, to be sure." Carson sniffed and blew his nose on a napkin.

Ronon took the guitar from John and set it gently aside. "Good song," he said, and then John was enveloped in a bear hug. The hug morphed into kissing, Ronon cradling his face, moving swiftly from gentleness to passion.

Distantly, John was aware of Teyla and Elizabeth shooing the others out, Rodney protesting about having to leave just when things were getting good as he was hustled away. Then all was quiet, and Ronon bore him down onto the bed and kissed the hell out of him until John was gasping and straining up against him.

"Third date," Ronon murmured. "I'm gonna take off your shirt, okay?"

 John nodded frantically; he wanted Ronon's shirt gone as well. "Yours," he panted, incoherently. "Off, off . . ." Then Ronon's mouth was on his neck, his collar bone, licking down his chest and finding a nipple, and all he could do was moan.

Ronon kept kissing him senseless while he undressed them but finally, finally, there was nothing but glorious skin between them and John got to taste and touch, maddened by Ronon's scent, his salt-sweet taste. He buried his nose in the cleft where Ronon's thigh met his balls and just breathed for a while, then he propped himself up between Ronon's legs and grinned up at where Ronon was looking down, amused.

"Having fun?" Ronon asked.

"Yep," John said, and bent to take as much of Ronon's cock into his mouth as he could, which wasn't nearly as much as he'd have liked, but Ronon seemed pretty happy with anything he did, falling back and clawing at the bed-covers, making little choked-off groans.

He pushed a hand into John's hair and stilled him, after a while. "Not yet," he said. "I wanna fuck you."

John shivered happily. "Yeah, okay. Can I ride you?"

Ronon smirked. "Dumb question."

John waved a hand. "Just, it's been a while, y'know?" He pulled himself up and got the nightstand drawer open, finding the lube he'd stashed there. He took out a condom packet and held it up, looking a question at Ronon.

"That one of those cock-skins from Earth? Do we have to?"

"It's safer. But Carson checks us all after each mission, so I know I'm clean."

"Me too," Ronon said. "I'm not fucking anyone else."

"Jesus, you better not be," John said, giving him a look. He dropped the condom back in the drawer, then sat up over Ronon's hips and lubed his fingers before working them into himself. "Because unless I miss my guess, that poetry fest tonight was more than just a date, right?"

Ronon was staring in fascination at where John's fingers were disappearing into his ass, but as John's question registered, he looked a little shifty. "Maybe," he said.

John arched and scissored his fingers, biting his lip. He liked jerking off with something up his ass, so it wasn't too hard to get himself prepped. "Yeah, I figured, what with all the 'joining' poems." He wiped his hand on the sheet and positioned Ronon's cock, then sank down until the head was inside, pausing there to sweat and gasp.

Bracing his hands on the bed alongside Ronon's rib-cage John exhaled then slid slowly down, moving up and down a little to ease the burn and stretch. "Ronon, I . . . Christ, you're huge." He looked up. Ronon had the bedclothes in a death-grip at each side, his eyes squeezed tight shut, panting with the effort of keeping still. John pushed right down then lifted up and sank back again, sighing with pleasure. "Okay, you can move now."

"Yeah, have to—" Ronon's voice was hoarse with desperation. He took John around the waist with both big hands and lifted him, thrusting up again and again. John moaned, unable to stay still, and they found a rhythm that worked, moving together a little raggedly. John sat back and Ronon braced him there and fucked up into him, and John got a hand on his cock, which was hard again. "So . . . what," he gasped, the words jerky as Ronon took him. "We . . . married . . . now?"

"Pretty much," Ronon gritted. "Joined, anyway."

"No . . . kidding," John managed, then he couldn't speak anymore, just shudder and writhe on Ronon's cock, his hand moving frantically.

He came, and was happily limp and boneless when Ronon pulled out and rolled him over, pressing John down on his face. Ronon pushed his leg up and thrust hard into him a few more times before grunting and stilling, subsiding with a long, drawn-out sigh. He eased off and pulled John back against him on their sides so they could fit on the ridiculously narrow bed, hauling the covers up over them.

" 'm gonna get Halling 'n Teyla to get us a bigger bed from the Athosians," John slurred, nestling back into Ronon. "Bastards owe us a wedding present."

Ronon tightened his arm around John's waist. "Good plan," he said, nuzzling John's shoulder.

"I have the best plans," John said drowsily, "and you owe me big-time for the sneak-attack wedding."

"Go to sleep," Ronon muttered.

"I'm just sayin'." John snuggled closer. "There better be cake."

A rumbling snore drifted up from behind him.

 

– the end –

 

* * *

streaming option of John's song **Over the Worlds and Far Away** (a version of _Over the Hills and Far Away_ ) - and links: [MP3](http://www.mediafire.com/download/e0yr79ohezzhg55/Over_the_Hills_and_Far_Away_SGA_version.mp3) [M4B](http://www.mediafire.com/download/cz8anc23amj9t3q/Over_the_Hills_and_Far_Away_-_SGA_version.m4b)  


**Author's Note:**

> Here are the three vids :  
>  **John and Ronon's Tango:** [_Santa María (del Buen Ayre)_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HNjVaaZXcBY) by the electronic tango band Gotan Project  
>  **Slow-dance music:** [Sexy Cinderella](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5wu2KDjxIog) by Lynden David Hall  
>  **Carson's song:**[My Love Is Like A Red, Red Rose](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VpGTqiIlES8) – by Robert Burns, sung by Davy Steele
> 
> The writers of the poems and songs are in the text. The Athosian ones and Ronon's poem are by me, as are John's adapted lyrics. Here are source references for the other poems:
> 
>   * [The Physics of Love, by David Leeds](http://ahuskofmeaning.com/2011/06/poetry-the-physics-of-love-by-david-leeds-2/)
>   * [A Red Red Rose, by Robert Burns](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/43812)
>   * [In the Café, by Jiří Žáček](http://vzjp.cz/basne.htm#Zacek)
>   * [Love Is Not All, by Edna St Vincent Millay](https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/love-not-all-sonnet-xxx)
>   * [ Over the Hills and Far Away - various versions across the centuries](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Over_the_Hills_and_Far_Away_\(traditional_song\)#John_Tams_lyrics) (see - messing with the lyrics is a tradition!)
> 



End file.
